Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie
by San Antonio Rose
Summary: Cas has no intention of letting Sam rot in the Cage, but even before the surviving members of Team Free Will leave Stull, Cas receives a plea from the future that sends him on a very different path from the one he'd planned to follow. Can he keep his promise and still help Dean keep his pledge to pursue the apple-pie life with Lisa and Ben? (AU from "Swan Song," S9 spoilers)
1. Angel, Don't Be a Hero

A/N: Here, at last, is the first of my solo entries for this year's SPN Gen Big Bang, with cover art by twisted_slinky! It is complete and will be posted a chapter a day. (There will be a couple of days' overlap with my other Big Bang, but since they're completely separate AUs, I didn't think there was any reason not to go that route.)

* * *

><p>Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie<br>By San Antonio Rose

Chapter 1  
>Angel, Don't Be a Hero<p>

Castiel had just restored Bobby to life and helped him up off the parched earth of Stull Cemetery when there was a... disturbance in the abandoned church on the far side of the field, some kind of temporal distortion. Frowning, Castiel looked that direction but could discern nothing more specific.

"Cas?" Dean prompted, his voice still wavering with grief and exhaustion.

Castiel shook himself and looked at Dean again briefly. "You two go on. I'll either catch up with you or meet you in Sioux Falls." And before Dean could object, he flew over to the church.

He had just landed on the steps when the door burst open and Sam stepped partway through.

"Sam!" Castiel gasped. "What—how—"

Sam held up a hand. "It's not what you're thinking, Cas."

Only then did Castiel register the differences—this Sam was several years older, dressed differently, his eyes red with weeping. And then Castiel saw the time travel sigil still blazing on the inside of the door because Sam was still standing half in and half out of the portal he'd established. "What's happened?"

"You don't want to know, trust me. But I'm here because I think you can stop it."

"How?"

"Look, I know what you're planning. And I appreciate it, I do. But you don't have the juice to get me out of the Cage in one piece on your own."

Castiel frowned. "What are you talking about? You're—"

"I'm whole now, but only because Dean made a deal with Death to get my soul out."

Castiel stared.

"That's what you need to do. Go to Death. Get his help."

"Why should Death help me?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know the exact timeline. But Crowley's about to launch a campaign to expand Hell's territory by annexing Purgatory. Death doesn't want that to happen, and for good reason. If the Leviathans escape—" He broke off, swallowed hard, and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You can change it. Don't... y'know, try to intimidate Death or bind him or anything, just... offer to stop Crowley if he'll get me out for you, body and soul intact."

Castiel nodded. "All right." But he couldn't stop staring at Sam's face, trying to figure out what had caused him to take this step.

"Promise me," Sam pleaded, his voice cracking slightly.

"I promise." And then a horrible possibility occurred to Castiel. "Sam, where is Dean?"

Sam's voice was barely audible when he replied, "He's dead."

"How? When?"

At that, Sam's grief exploded into anger. "Dammit, Cas, it doesn't matter! Just—fix it! Fix this, fix _now_, and none of it will ever happen."

"All right. I will. I promise."

Sam drew a ragged breath and nodded. "Okay. Thanks." And he withdrew from the portal, which pulled the door shut as it closed down.

Castiel opened the door again and ran his fingers over the sigil, seeking to learn from it as much as he could. That wasn't very much, but what little he could discern troubled him deeply. It also convinced him of the necessity of honoring his promise to Sam. Not that he was fond of the idea of trying to do business with one of the Horsemen, especially _that_ Horseman, but if doing so would stop whatever had killed Dean and driven Sam to despair... well, he couldn't help thinking of Solomon's adage, "Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due when it is within your power to act." Keeping this promise was within Castiel's power, and if any living men were due good, they were Sam and Dean.

The prospect still gave Castiel pause for thought, and he stayed to consider how to proceed so long that night had fallen by the time he finally caught up with Dean. But Dean was alone, since Bobby was driving his own van, and Castiel could tell that Dean was glad to have someone else there to pull him out of the torment of his own thoughts.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said wearily. "You check out whatever it was?"

"I did, yes," Castiel replied and had to decide quickly how much to reveal. "It was not something about which you need to concern yourself."

"You took care of it?"

"Yes."

Dean nodded slowly, then took a deep breath and let it out again. "So, what's next? What are you gonna do now? Head home?"

"Eventually, I suppose. But there's... something I promised Sam I would do for him first."

Dean blinked and frowned. "What?"

"I can't tell you—yet, but I... will as soon as I can. Dean, it's not something you need to worry over."

"Why the hell not?"

Castiel sighed. "Haven't you given enough, my friend?"

The muscles in Dean's face tensed and twitched as he fought to keep from crying.

"Besides, I believe you made your own promise to Sam. Keep yours, and let me see to mine."

Dean was silent a moment longer before he felt he could speak. "Only if you'll promise me something."

"Name it."

"Be careful. And don't be a stranger."

Castiel smiled. "I promise. You'll hear from me soon." And he left.

Finding Death was somewhat easier than Castiel had feared it would be, and while he didn't bring up specific terms for the deal, Death did indeed want Crowley stopped. So Castiel decided to consult Bobby late one afternoon... and arrived to find Crowley in the process of exploiting a loophole in Bobby's contract that freed him from the obligation to relinquish his claim on Bobby's soul. Castiel quickly slew the hellhound that was waiting outside and rushed in to pin Crowley from behind and put his sword to Crowley's throat.

"Release him _now_," Castiel snarled.

Crowley scoffed. "Oh, Cas, _really_, I—"

Castiel tightened his grip and pressed the blade against Crowley's throat almost hard enough to draw blood. "I said _release him_."

Crowley sighed and waved his hand, negating the contract.

"You can leave the part about my legs," Bobby noted dryly.

With a grimace, Crowley did so. "There. Happy?" he asked Castiel.

Castiel moved the sword away from Crowley's throat but didn't relax his hold otherwise. "One more thing. Is it true that you plan to initiate a search for Purgatory, to make it part of Hell?"

"Er, well, it _is_ undevel—"

Castiel didn't give him time to try to lie his way out. Before Crowley could even finish the word, Castiel drove his sword into Crowley's heart.

"Didja have to do that in my living room?" Bobby grumbled.

Castiel tilted his head. "It was convenient."

Bobby snorted, amused.

"Very good, Castiel," Death said from the kitchen door, where he stood with a plate of gooey butter cake. "I have but one other request: that you and Bobby find a secure place to store my brothers' rings so that Raphael cannot find and use them."

Castiel frowned. "Raphael?"

"Oh, I suppose you haven't heard. Raphael wants to restart the Apocalypse."

Castiel looked at Bobby, who sighed. "Gotta get out the backhoe anyway to get rid of that piece o' trash," he noted, nodding at Crowley's body. "Guess I'll dig up the rings while I'm at it. Cas, you think you can angel-proof the panic room?"

"Yes, that should be no problem," Castiel agreed. "I'll, um..."

"Just leave the body on the porch."

Castiel did so and flew downstairs to etch Enochian wards into the walls of the panic room while Bobby dug up the rings and buried Crowley. They met at the top of the basement stairs.

"Oh, I should like mine back," Death interrupted before Bobby could take the rings down to the panic room. "After all, can't be too careful—Raphael can't make use of the others unless he has the full set."

Swallowing hard, Bobby separated Death's ring from the key formation, which caused the other rings to separate as well. Death put his plate on the table and came over to take his ring from Bobby. And if Bobby hurried down the stairs to lock away the other rings a little faster than strictly necessary, Castiel wasn't going to hold it against him.

Death bowed his head regally and slid on his own ring. "Now that you have honored your part of the agreement, Castiel, I shall go and honor mine. Wait for me here." And he vanished.

"Agreement?!" Bobby echoed as he came back up the stairs. "What the hell have you done, you idjit?!"

"What I promised Sam I would do," Castiel replied and walked over to wait beside the couch.

* * *

><p>Falling into the Cage took much longer now that Lucifer was bound by human flesh. He didn't know how long or far it was, but the Cage was designed to house his true form, not this miniscule piece of mud he was currently wrapped in. For him, it was boring. For Sam, it was terrifying, especially since Lucifer kept him from relaxing by replaying the havoc he'd wreaked on Earth in Sam's form, his killing of Bobby Singer and Castiel, his beating of Dean.<p>

_You failed, though_, Sam insisted. _You didn't kill him. Dean's alive._

"For now, perhaps," Lucifer purred. "But you know he'll never survive up there without you."

After a few more rounds of this conversation, Sam actually started to believe it, and by the time they reached the bottom of the Cage at last, he had begun to despair.

The archangels stretched themselves out of their vessels then, and Michael turned toward Sam. "Let me teach you a lesson in obedience, worm."

"He's mine," Lucifer replied, pushing Michael back. "Play with your own toy."

"I can't." Michael kicked at Adam's lifeless form. "He made me promise that I would send his soul to Heaven at once, and I did so."

"Oh, Michael, Michael, _Michael!_ You can't have any fun with them that way! Here, let me show you how it's done." Lucifer stretched down a hand toward Sam so as to pluck out the soul while leaving the body alive.

Ineffectual as he had to know it was, Sam flung his arms up to shield his face and drew his legs up to shield his chest. "No, nononono, _please_—"

Something hard came down on Lucifer's wrist with an audible crack that actually hurt. Startled, Lucifer pulled back his hand and looked up.

"None of that," Death said sternly, stooped to pick Sam up off the floor while steadying himself with his cane, and left, heedless of how the walls of Hell shook as Lucifer wailed at the loss of his shiny new plaything.

* * *

><p>Bobby had just joined Castiel beside the couch, still staring at him incredulously, when Death returned with an unconscious Sam cradled in his arms. "Here you are," Death stated, setting Sam on the couch with surprising care. "Body and soul intact, as requested."<p>

Castiel bowed slightly in thanks.

"Oh, and Castiel? I shouldn't try to take up where Crowley left off if I were you. Sam and Dean would be most unhappy, and I would be... displeased."

Castiel swallowed hard and nodded. "I understand."

Death smiled slightly and strolled out of the house.

"So _that's_ what you were up to," Bobby breathed, gently brushing Sam's bangs back from his forehead.

"It was," Castiel confirmed. "Please hold him steady for a moment; this will hurt him."

"Hurt? What the hell—"

"I have to double-check that his soul is in place. Please, Bobby."

Bobby sighed and steadied Sam while Castiel reached into Sam's chest. But Castiel pressed in only far enough to sense that Sam's soul was indeed in place and unharmed; then he pulled back and healed as much of the physical damage of the possession as he could. Despite screaming from the pain of the test, Sam remained unconscious.

"He good?" Bobby asked.

Castiel nodded. "Death was correct."

Just then Sam startled awake with a gasp, stared at Bobby and Castiel as he gulped down a couple of breaths, and leapt up to pull first Castiel, then Bobby into a warm but desperate hug. Bobby sniffled and rubbed Sam's back for a moment.

Still breathing hard, Sam broke the embrace and stepped back. "Where's Dean?"

"He ain't here right now," Bobby began, "but—"

Sam's eyes grew panicked. "Dean! Where's Dean?!"

Castiel put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come with me."

Cicero was far enough east of Sioux Falls that the sun had already set by the time Castiel landed with Sam outside Lisa Braeden's house, accidentally blowing out the streetlight. Sam looked around wildly until he caught sight of Dean through the dining room window.

"_Dean_," he breathed, and all else was forgotten as he ran stumbling for Lisa's front door.

* * *

><p>Dean was trying. He really was. He knew drinking so much wasn't healthy, and was setting a bad example for Ben, and he <em>thought<em> he'd be able to limit himself to only the one tumbler of whisky during supper. After Ben went to bed, all bets were off, but until then—

"You okay?" Lisa asked gently, setting the last serving dish on the table.

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

But before he could take another drink, someone started pounding on the front door. "Dean! _Dean! DEEEEEEEEEEEAN!_"

Dean would know that voice anywhere. Wide-eyed, he bolted for the door and almost tore the damn thing off its hinges pulling it open.

And there he was, large as life, panting like he'd run a four-minute mile, hair and eyes wild. "Dean?"

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

Sam lurched across the threshold and the salt line and into Dean's arms. He was warm and solid and real and alive, and Dean buried his nose in the crook of Sam's neck and let loose wave after wave of deep, racking sobs, the kind he'd tried to hold back even when he was too drunk to stand. But it was okay to cry now; they were tears of relief, of joy. He had his brother back.

"He said," Sammy gasped, and okay, maybe he was crying, too. "He said you'd never make it if—"

"He lied," Dean answered, not bothering to hide the way his voice broke. "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I got you."

Distantly, Dean heard the phone ring and Lisa answer it. "Hello? ... Who—oh, _Bobby_. Sorry, Dean's kind of tied up right now... Yes. Yes, he's here. ... Sure, I'll have him call you. Might be tomorrow, but I'll have him call. ... You, too, Bobby. Bye."

It was another long moment before the brothers had regained enough composure to let go of each other. Only then did Dean reach for his holy water flask. "Sammy, I hate to do this, but..."

Sam snatched the silver flask out of Dean's hand, put it to his lips, and guzzled the holy water in huge, audible gulps until the flask was empty. Then he handed it back. "'S the sweetest taste in the worl' right now," he wheezed.

Dean hugged him again. "Good enough, little brother. Good enough." Then he thumped Sam's back and let him go. "C'mon. We're lettin' bugs in."

Sam huffed in amusement and stumbled out of the devil's trap and into the living room, which gave Dean a chance to close the door—and to wave at Cas, who was watching from the sidewalk. Cas smiled at him and vanished. Then Dean turned back to Sam, who was looking around and trying to get his bearings until he spotted Ben and Lisa in the dining room.

"Lisa?" Sam asked.

Lisa smiled. "Hi, Sam. You're just in time for supper."

Sam looked back at Dean, and Dean could have sworn he heard the wheels of that giant nerd brain groan their way into gear. "Oh, I'm... s-sorry, I interrupted..."

Before Dean could respond, Lisa came over to Sam. "No, no, we were just sitting down. Come on in." And she took his arm and started pulling him gently toward the table.

Sam moved like he was concussed. "Don' wann' impose..."

"You're not imposing. We've got plenty for four, and you look like you could use a good meal. Now, come on."

Sam kept protesting weakly until Dean put a hand on his back and joined Lisa in steering him into the dining room past Ben, who kept staring in shock until Lisa asked him to set another place at the table. And Sam may or may not have noticed when Dean dumped his whisky into the sink and came back with a glass of water. Physically, Sammy looked okay, but Dean would bet anybody that his circuits were still pretty fried from having been possessed.

That was okay. They'd see him through it. And even if the damage was permanent, any Sammy was better than no Sammy.

Dean waited until Sam had eaten enough for his eyes to look less glassy before asking, "So, how long you been back?"

Sam shook his head. "I... I dunno. Few minutes, maybe. I... woke up on Bobby's couch, but you weren't there. So... C-Cas brought me here."

Dean nodded slowly. "So was it Cas who got you out?"

"I don' 'member. Sorry, Dean. I'm not thinkin' so good right now."

"Hey." Dean rubbed Sam's arm. "You just got back. It's okay. You should eat, get some sleep. We'll figure out the rest later."

Sam nodded and smiled. "'Kay. Thanks."

After supper, Dean had Ben go out to the garage and bring Sam's duffle in from the car. Then he got Sam upstairs and into bed in the guest room while Lisa put Ben to bed. That was good timing, because it meant Ben didn't have to overhear any of the really sappy stuff Dean said to Sam (and vice versa) but would refuse to own up to if anyone else but Sam had been listening. Finally, however, Sam dropped off to sleep, but Dean couldn't pull himself away any further than the doorway.

He was still standing there watching Sammy sleep when Lisa came up beside him and gave him a side hug. He returned it. "Thanks," he whispered.

"For what?" she whispered back.

"Lettin' him stay."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'm glad he's okay."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"So... what now? Are you planning to leave?"

He blinked, unsure what to make of the question. "N-no. Not to go back to hunting. I'm done, and Sammy's... not in any fit state. I mean, I could try to find someplace here in town for him and me if you want, but..."

"No, Dean, that's not what I..." She looked up at him with a grimace—and kissed him.

He cleared his throat, pulled Sammy's door to, and turned to face her fully. "Say that again?"

Two hours later, she tossed her hair out of her face and poked one finger at the middle of his bare, sweaty chest. "_That's_ what I was trying to say."

"That's what I thought."

"So what's your answer?"

"Ask me tomorrow," he rumbled in her ear, making her giggle.

* * *

><p>Having Sammy back made all the difference in the world for Dean. Ben and Lisa were astonished at the overnight change—he cut way back on his drinking, started paying better attention to what they were doing, pitched in more with housework and yardwork, and even started looking for a job. He was still twitchy in some ways, probably always would be, but for the first time, he felt like he might actually be able to make a go of this whole suburban thing.<p>

Part and parcel of that, however, was getting Sam back on his feet. Food and sleep went a long way, but they weren't enough to overcome Sam's heightened anxieties, occasional hallucinations, and somewhat impaired cognition. However, Bobby located a good psychiatrist in Indianapolis who wouldn't ask too many questions of the wrong sort, and she got Sam squared away with meds that would help straighten out the physical imbalances that were plaguing that giant brain of his. And they actually started to help after the first month or so, enough that Sam was okay with Dean going to work during the day and wouldn't have a massive panic attack over the possibility that everything was a Lucifer-generated hoax and that Dean was going to off himself. He, too, started getting more involved in the life of the household, which seemed to make it easier for Lisa to accept letting him stay until he was well enough to get a place of his own.

So of course there was one more major shoe left to drop.

It was August, the weekend before school started again, and Ben had gone off camping with some friends. Dean had been invited to join them, but aside from his general distaste for spending the night in the woods, he knew Sam still wasn't up to letting him out of sight for that long, and Heaven help them all if Sam came along and had an episode while they were still out in the back of beyond. So the brothers had stayed home, looking forward to a quiet weekend with no kids around and maybe some time for Dean and Lisa to get out for a few hours to themselves.

Saturday morning got off to a pleasant start, and after breakfast, Sam went into the living room to watch TV while Dean and Lisa did the dishes and discussed date options. They had just about decided to go into Indy to a Thai place for lunch when there was a clatter-bang from the stairs and a panicked "DEEEEEEEEAN!" from Sammy.

Barely managing not to break the dish he was holding when he dropped it back in the sink, Dean ran into the living room to find Sam cowering on the floor in front of the couch and a tall, thin, dark-haired man in a light blue suit coming around the staircase. The front door was still locked, and since the windows had still been salted when Dean had done his morning perimeter check, there was a good chance this guy had come in through... the door under the stairs?

There wasn't time to worry about that, though, because the guy was headed straight toward Sammy. "John?" he asked, sounding confused and concerned.

Dean not only headed him off but slammed him back against the nearest wall, pinning him. "Stay the hell away from my brother."

The stranger blinked. "Your... _brother?_"

Behind him, Dean could hear Lisa tending to Sam. "Shh, shh, Sam, it's okay..."

The stranger shook his head a little. "I-I'm sorry to have disturbed you like this, but if you'll just tell John I'm here—"

"He's not here," Sam started chanting. "He's not here. This is real, this is real, Dad's not here, he's not, he's _not_..."

"You'll have to excuse him," Dean said, eyes narrowing slightly. "He just got back from Hell."

But the stranger's confusion didn't lessen. "You're... John's _sons?_"

Dean didn't answer.

"But—why is he so sure John isn't here?"

"He's _dead_."

The stranger gasped, what little color he'd had draining from his cheeks. "No..."

Now it was Dean's turn to blink. "What's it to you?"

"Everything. He's my son."

Dean wasn't sure why he bought it; maybe it was just that the level of shock and grief in the guy's eyes couldn't be faked. Whatever the reason, though, he let go of the guy's shirt but didn't back away from him. "What's your name?"

"Henry. Henry Winchester."

Dean's chin rose, and he took one step back. That was a name he knew. "'Fraid I need to run a couple of tests, Henry, make sure you are who you say you are."

Henry nodded. "Of course."

Dean offered him the flask of holy water, and Henry drank without hesitation. Then, before Dean could pull his silver knife, Henry shook back his left sleeve to reveal an open cut, against which he pressed the silver flask to show that he didn't react. Dean nodded in satisfaction, and Henry wiped the blood off the flask with his handkerchief and handed it back.

"What happened there?" Dean asked, nodding at the cut.

"I needed my blood for the spell that brought me here," Henry replied, wrapping his handkerchief around it. "But we can go into all that later. Time is of the essence. I need your help to get back to Normal, Illinois."

"Hey, hey, whoa. Slow your roll, man. I'm not going anywhere without Sam, and as you can see, Sam ain't up to going to the _mailbox_."

Sam laughed, though it had a hysterical edge to it. "Things I never thought I'd hear Dean say."

"What," Lisa replied, "going to the mailbox?"

"Yeah."

Henry shot Sam a worried look before shaking his head and returning his attention to Dean. "I don't think you understand. I have an assignment of the greatest urgency."

Dean pulled a face. "How the hell am I supposed to understand when you haven't told me anything?"

"There isn't time for explanations. Can you at least lend me a car?"

"You don't even know where you are!"

"Dean," Sam interrupted, but while his voice still held a panicked note, the tone was one of warning.

Wide-eyed, Henry looked back toward the closet under the stairs just as its door rattled. "Oh, no," he breathed. "Run!"

"The hell with that," Dean growled, pushing Henry behind him and grabbing a gun out of the nearest end table. "CAS!"

Cas appeared just inside the front door. "Dean? What's—"

And the closet under the stairs burst open again and a tall redhead ducked through the doorway. She was wearing a '50s-style ball gown about the same color as Henry's suit, but it was spattered with blood.

Scowling, Cas manifested his sword and moved in front of Dean. "_Abaddon_."

The redhead—Abaddon—laughed. "I can't believe it! Castiel! What's a birdbrain like you doing in a place like this?"

Cas didn't reply.

Abaddon sashayed closer. "Out of my way, angel."

"Never."

She chuckled. "You know, I would _love_ to pluck your wings, feather by feather. Maybe I will if you don't let me have Henry."

"You won't get the chance."

"Like you can stop me all on your own!"

"Not alone, no. But I'm not."

And with that, another half-dozen or so black-suited angels appeared, surrounding Abaddon. She shrieked loud enough to make the walls shake, but they converged on her and stabbed her at the same time, and apparently the combined effect of all those angel swords was enough to kill her.

Cas looked at the other angels. "Rachel, Inias?"

A blonde female and a dark-haired male nodded, lifted the corpse between them, and vanished. The other angels followed, but Cas stowed his sword and turned back to Dean.

Dean sighed and put down his gun. "Thanks, dude."

Cas smiled a little. "You're welcome." Then he looked past Dean toward Sam, at Henry, and back at Dean. "I'll... return later, if I may. I'd like to speak with your grandfather."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Cas nodded back and left.

Then Dean turned back to check on Sam. "He okay, Lis?"

Sam was still breathing kind of hard but looked calmer, and Lisa glanced up from helping him sit up long enough to nod. "Yeah. He'll be all right."

Only then did Dean turn to Henry, who was staring at him. "You're... you're on a _nickname_ basis with the Angel of Thursday?!"

Dean shrugged. "What can I say? He's a war buddy. You gonna stick around to find out what he wants, or are you too busy with that urgent assignment of yours?"

Henry sighed. "Well, with Abaddon dead, the immediate threat's been removed. And... well..." He glanced at Sam, down at his hands, and back up at Dean. "Somehow it doesn't seem quite so urgent anymore."

Dean tipped his head back a little, assessing his grandfather. Dad had hated the man for disappearing, but if he was already this concerned about Sam's welfare, maybe he wasn't all bad. "So you'll stay?"

Henry nodded. "If I may, at least long enough to get to know you a little better, catch up on what all I've missed... maybe even help out. I mean, I'm sure you and your wife are more than capable of taking care of Sam..."

"Uh, we're not—" Lisa began.

"Really having much trouble," Dean interrupted. "You just caught us on a bad day."

"Even so, it might be easier for me to at least give you some time off. Maybe I could even move the two of us into an apartment—"

"NO!" Sam yelped. "Nonononono, don't take me away from Dean, _please!_"

Dean rushed to Sam's side. "Hey, hey, Sammy, easy. Nobody's takin' you anywhere."

"No... no... Dean..." Sam's eyes were wild and unfocused, fixed straight ahead and not seeing that Dean was right beside him.

So Dean moved his head directly in front of Sam's eyes. "Hey. I'm right here."

Sam finally focused on Dean and grabbed hold of Dean's shirt with both hands. "Dean... Dean, don' let 'im take me..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Henry said, his voice breaking.

Lisa jumped up and went over to him. "Look, why don't we go outside, let Dean deal with Sam, huh?" And before Henry could protest or try to apologize again, she steered him out the back door.

"I'm sorry," Sam was pleading and starting to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll be good, I promise..."

There was only one thing to do with a meltdown of such epic proportions: shut down and reboot. Dean reached up to put a hand on Sam's cheek. "_Hey_. You're stayin'. You hear me? Nobody's takin' you."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll do anything."

"All right, c'mon." Dean gently helped the Sasquatch to his feet and, ignoring the litany of apologies as best he could with his heart squeezing, steered Sam up the stairs to the bathroom. There he retrieved a sedative from the medicine cabinet. "Can you take this for me?"

Sam nodded, took the pill in one hand while keeping the other firmly wrapped in Dean's shirt, popped the pill in his mouth, and dry-swallowed it.

"Okay, c'mon, Sammy." Dean herded Sam out of the bathroom and across the hall to the room that had become his by default, and since Sam hadn't ever put his boots on that morning, Dean put him straight to bed.

But when Dean tried to pull away from him, Sam panicked again and grabbed hold of Dean's arm. "Don' leave me! Don' leave me, _please_, Dean..."

"Hey, hey, take it easy—"

Then Dean let out a squawk as Sam pulled him down and pinned him from below with a rib-crushing hug. He could feel Sam's heart hammering beneath his own as Sam kept panting, "Don' leave me... don' leave me..."

"Okay, geez. Just let me breathe, will ya?"

Sam's grip let up only enough to let Dean breathe better, but even as the quick-acting sedative pulled him under, he still kept repeating, "Donleeme... don'... don'..." And then he was out, his face relaxing and his breathing and heart rate steadying, but his arms didn't budge an inch.

Dean sighed, tried to find a comfortable spot on Sam's shoulder to rest his cheek, and resigned himself to an unwanted nap.


	2. Tears on My Pillow

Chapter 2  
>Tears on My Pillow<p>

Dean's stomach was beginning to inform him that it was lunchtime when he finally heard a sleepy "Dean?" He turned his head and opened his eyes to find Sam looking at him in mild confusion.

He smiled. "Hey, Sammy."

"Did... did I freak out or something?"

"You had a reason. But yeah."

Sam sighed. "I don't remember."

That wasn't really a surprise; the shrink had warned them that bad episodes could prompt Sam's mind to blank out whatever had caused them, and it had happened a couple of times before. Dean nodded. "It's okay."

"I get confused," Sam continued. "I can't always remember what's real—and-and not just because... y'know, I see things sometimes. I have these really horrible dreams."

Dean frowned a little in confusion and concern. "Like?"

"There was one where I let you get turned into a vampire. I-it was like I didn't have a _soul_."

Dean's frown deepened.

"Then there was one where... you went to Purgatory, and I didn't even look for you."

"Why not?"

"I-I don't know. I hit a dog. Dean, it _made no sense_. And then..." Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Then there was one where you had done something, and I was mad at you, and you were mad at you, and... and you left and came back with the Mark of Cain, and it turned you into a demon!" He sniffled and opened his eyes again, looking at Dean with a depth of heartbreak that was almost unfathomable. "You know I love you, don't you?"

This was no time for snark about chick flick moments. And yeah, maybe Dean had needed to hear it as much as Sam needed to say it. But there was only one thing Sam needed to hear right now, and Dean meant it with all his heart. "Yeah. I know."

Sam's sigh of relief wasn't audible, but his eyes looked a whole lot happier.

Dean waited a safe number of seconds before adding in a lighter tone, "Considering the way you've been huggin' me for the last three hours..."

"Oh! Uh. Sorry." But the corners of Sam's mouth twitched upward even as he finally let go of Dean.

"Hey." Now that Dean's arms were free, he could finally brush the hair out of Sam's eyes again as he returned the smile. "No need to be sorry, little brother. We're good."

Sam's smile brightened. And when Dean sat up with an exaggerated groan, Sam actually chuckled a little.

Dean smiled more broadly and patted Sam's shoulder. Then he got serious again. "Now, about why you freaked out. We got some unexpected company this morning. I don't know the full story yet, but the short version is, our grandfather—Dad's dad, the one he thought ran out on him—used some kind of time travel spell and came here looking for Dad."

Sam blinked and frowned a little. "I... I kind of remember that. Is he tall, dark hair?"

"Yeah. He was bein' chased by some demon, Abaddon. Cas and his buddies took care of her."

Sam nodded slowly and looked away as more bits of memory came back. "There was something else, though, something..." His frown deepened as he looked at Dean again. "Did he say he was—"

Dean held up a hand. "He was trying to help, okay? He didn't know."

"B-but he wanted to—"

"Get a place here in town and have you move in with him."

Sam blinked several times as he processed that. "Oh. Okay, that... that's not what I thought he said."

"Yeah, I know that's not what you thought. You freaked out so bad, I had to give you a night-night pill."

"I wish you wouldn't call it that," Sam groaned, wincing and scrubbing a hand over his face, but it didn't hide the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward again.

Dean chuckled slightly. "Anyway, I thought you should know, 'cause he's still here—unless he ran off with Cas or something."

"Oh, he's still here," Lisa said from the doorway. "I just hope he isn't mad at me."

Dean turned to her. "Why?"

"He started looking like he was going to bolt, so I spiked his iced tea with about half a dose of Benadryl."

Dean grinned. "You evil genius."

She shrugged and smiled that smile that meant she was trying not to laugh. Then she looked past him to make eye contact with Sam. "Hi, Sam."

Sam smiled. "Hi."

"Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good. That was a pretty epic meltdown."

Sam huffed. "Yeah. But I think I'm okay."

"You get anything out of him, Lis?" Dean asked.

Lisa shifted to lean against the doorframe. "He kept going on about this society called the Men of Letters that you and your dad were supposed to join. Sounds like some kind of cross between reference librarians and military intelligence, only for the supernatural. Abaddon attacked them the night of Henry's initiation, and one of the elders gave him something to keep safe. So he tried to jump forward in time, find your dad, get his help finding out what the thing is, and then eventually go back to 1958. He was _really_ not happy when I told him you two were hunters."

Dean frowned. "Why not?"

"Basically, he thinks all hunters are dirty, dumb, and violent."

"Well, nobody's perfect," Sam deadpanned in a tolerable Davy Jones impression.

Lisa chuckled. "Anyway, when I got him up to speed about the changelings and the Apocalypse and everything, he started asking where to find a hoodoo shop."

"And that's when you drugged him?"

"Well, he was acting a little jetlagged anyway. At least he was with it enough to lie down on his own steam. Oh, and he still thinks we're married," she noted, looking at Dean.

"We could be," Dean replied without thinking—but even when he realized he'd inadvertently proposed, he didn't take it back.

She blinked at him in shock for a moment before straightening with a deep breath. "Okay, _that_ is a conversation we need to have later. You guys hungry? I ordered pizza."

Sam sat up with a not-so-exaggerated groan and stood a little unsteadily. Dean waited for him to get his land legs back before following him and Lisa downstairs to the dining room, noting as they passed the living room that Henry was sacked out on the couch.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked with a confused frown as they sat down at the table. "We don't have a tradition of a 'sacred annual pilgrimage to Vegas' or anything like that, do we?"

Dean blinked. "I wish."

"Okay, I _thought_ that one was a dream. It was way too bizarre to be real."

"In what way?"

"I got dosed with love potion and wound up married to Becky."

Dean shivered, which made Sam laugh.

"Who?" Lisa asked.

"Becky Rosen, Sam's #1 fangirl," Dean explained. "She was waaay too excited to find out he was real."

Sam grimaced in embarrassment even as he kept laughing. "Deeeean..."

"Dude, you brought her up. I didn't need to know what you two get up to in your dreams."

Sam spluttered, and Lisa fought valiantly not to laugh. Dean snickered and grabbed a box of pizza.

The three of them ate in companionable silence for a while. Somewhere around his third slice, though, Dean spoke up again. "So, Sammy, Cas said he'd be by sometime to talk to Henry."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

"Depending on what Cas has to say, Henry might make another offer to have you move in with him. You gonna be okay with that?"

Sam sighed. "If you mean will I freak out over it, no. But... I'm not okay. What we talked about earlier helped, but I can't guarantee I won't lose it again, and right now, Henry's pretty much a total stranger. I mean, I don't want to be a burden on you and Lisa..."

"You're not," Lisa assured him, putting a hand on his arm. "Ben and I care about you, too, not just Dean, and not just because you're Dean's brother. Plus, you guys nearly died saving the world. I expect you to have a few issues. Now, admittedly, it might be easier if you could have your own place or move in with Bobby, but you can't, so you're welcome to stay. And as long as you help out as much as you can, it's not like you're freeloading."

"Are you sure?"

Dean huffed. "Dude, you think I'd just let you lie around and be lazy?"

Sam had to chuckle at that.

Dean was just contemplating a fifth piece when Henry woke with a start, sitting bolt upright with a deep, audible gasp. After looking around wildly for the space of a few harsh pants, he slumped against the back of the couch and put a hand to his head. "It's real... holy cats..."

"You doin' okay there, Henry?" Dean asked.

"Not really." Henry rubbed his forehead a little. "I was... I was hoping it was all a dream."

"Yeah, no such luck. You want some pizza?"

Henry grimaced, moving his hand to his stomach. "No, not really. Thanks."

"Can I get you something else?" Lisa offered. "Soda, coffee?"

"I... might take some black coffee. Thank you."

"Coming right up." Lisa got up and went into the kitchen.

With a groan, Henry pushed himself up off the couch and started dragging himself to the dining table. "Can't believe I sacked out like that. I guess going from late night in one year to mid-morning fifty-two years later is worse than jet lag."

"Could be," Dean replied, trying not to give away what he knew of time travel and of the real reason Henry fell asleep.

But Sam stopped the conversation from going any further down that line by standing up and offering Henry his hand to shake. "Hi. I'm Sam."

"Sam. Henry Winchester." They shook hands, and Henry continued, "You're looking better."

Sam huffed and smiled a little. "Thanks. I'm feeling better. I'm sorry about earlier; you just... kind of caught me off guard."

"And I'm very sorry I did so. I had no idea."

"Well, even if you had, it's not like you had any way to call ahead."

Henry chuckled uncertainly and sat down beside Dean.

Sam sat down again himself. "Lisa said you came here from 1958?"

"I did, yes. She also tells me you guys are hunters, which... I'm sorry, I'm just having trouble understanding. You and your father should have become Men of Letters—unless..." Henry gulped. "Unless I... don't make it back from this time."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Sam cleared his throat. "We don't know. All we know is that Dad never saw you again."

"Oh, no," Henry groaned and slumped forward with his head in his hands. "I... can't say I regret coming here. I didn't have much choice, and I did—do—have a responsibility to uphold, but... I never meant to hurt John."

Lisa was on her way back with the coffee, so Dean reined in what he really wanted to say. Instead, he said, "Your responsibility was to your family. And Dad, he had to learn everything the hard way when a demon killed our mom. Got a lot of things wrong, but he did the best he could." Then he looked over at Sam even as he kept talking to Henry. "And I doubt even you could have found us a better way out of the Apocalypse."

Sam smiled a little. "Primary sources."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"That's what we had, primary sources—Death, Gabriel. When it comes to research, primary sources are the best. And I mean, if even Cas didn't know Lilith was the final seal until it was too late..."

"Yeah, that's a good point."

"Holy cats," Henry whimpered and took a desperate swig from the mug Lisa had just set in front of him.

"Need some Irish in that?" she asked.

Henry shook his head. "No. Thank you, but I... I ought to keep my head clear, at least until Castiel returns."

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, immediately followed by Cas appearing just inside. "Hello," he said.

"Hey, Cas," Dean replied.

Sam looked somewhere between baffled and amused. "Dude, did you just walk _through_ the door?"

Cas tilted his head a little. "Given the state you were in earlier, I thought knocking would be a good idea."

The brothers both laughed.

Lisa, ever the good hostess, asked, "Can I get you anything, Cas?"

Cas shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm glad you're calmer, Sam," he added as he came to the table and sat down across from Henry. "What I have to say concerns you as well."

Sam blinked. "In what way?"

"I think I know of a way Henry's errand can help you—help all of us, in fact."

Henry frowned a little and set down his mug. "I'm all ears."

"My garrison has been investigating Abaddon's attack on the Men of Letters. The other members who were there that night were reported to have all been killed, but in fact, one man survived. Larry Ganem."

"Larry. Good. He's the one who—gave me something for safekeeping. Where is he?"

"I'll take you to him... if you'll help me find some information. I believe the Men of Letters may have knowledge about the angels that has not been revealed to those of us in the lower echelons. Specifically, how to sever the link between an angel and its vessel and ensure that the vessel can never again be taken."

Dean's eyes widened, and though he and Sam leaned forward at the same time, it was Dean who spoke. "You can cut Sam's link to Lucifer?"

"And... and make it _permanent?_" Sam continued. "Like the anti-possession sigil?"

"I believe it's possible," Cas replied, "but I don't know if any angel below the archangels received the knowledge. It was never something that we needed to do before now. Bobby's been looking, but it's said the Men of Letters held texts of lore that had otherwise vanished from the earth."

Henry nodded slowly. "I've heard that, too. I... I don't know where the rarest antiquities are kept, though—but Larry might."

"He should." Cas paused. "Of course, if it is possible to seal a vessel against possession, you and Dean should also undergo the ritual."

"What? Why?" Henry asked at the same time Dean said, "Hey, whoa, Michael's in the Cage. What—"

Cas sighed. "Raphael wants to restart the Apocalypse."

The humans all swore (well, Henry came close).

"Bobby and I have hidden the Horsemen's rings, and I've taken all the other precautions I can, but I'm not strong enough to oppose him openly, nor is there a way for me to gain power that doesn't come at an unacceptable cost or risk worse disaster. And I fear he may find some other way to open the Cage. What that might be, I don't know."

"Probably try to bind Death," Sam said. "Lucifer did."

Henry stared at him.

"The only way to be sure he won't succeed," Cas continued, "is to ensure that none of the Winchester line can be taken as vessels. And... severing the connection may also help Sam with the problems I can't heal."

"Cas, if you need my permission, you've got it. Do it. Do what you have to."

Dean nodded. "That goes for me, too."

Henry swallowed hard. "I'm still not sure I quite understand what's going on, but Dean, you're right. I do have a responsibility to my family. If helping Castiel will help Sam, then I'm in."

Dean shot Cas a _Don't let him do anything stupid_ look. Cas nodded once and vanished with Henry, leaving the other humans to recover from this latest bombshell.

After a long moment, Dean looked over at Sam. "So was this part of what Cas promised you?"

Sam frowned. "What?"

"He said he'd promised you something, before you jumped."

Sam's frown deepened in total confusion. "Dean... I have no idea what you're talking about."

* * *

><p>"Larry," Henry pleaded, "my grandsons' <em>lives<em> are at stake. The _world_ is at stake! And Abaddon is dead!"

Castiel was not impressed with Larry Ganem, whose blindness was more than physical. And his opinion of the man dropped further as Larry shook his head emphatically. "Abaddon was only a hired gun. Her death is immaterial to the threat we face. We must make sure that knowledge doesn't fall into the wrong hands!"

"Even if that means it's lost forever? Even if that means the world will end?!"

"Enough of this," Castiel growled, spreading his wings in a spectrum he knew Larry's soul would be able to sense even without the aid of his eyes. "The attempt to free Lucifer may already be underway. Give Henry the coordinates."

Larry was awed, but only briefly. "Castiel, far be it from me to gainsay an angel, but—"

"Now."

Larry hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and picked up the pen Henry had pressed into his hand a moment earlier. Yet he paused again with his hand over the notepad. "What guarantee do I have that this information will remain safe?"

"No more than you had before we arrived."

"What do you mean by that? I'm—"

"You live in constant fear, yet for fifty-two years, you have lived in a house too poorly warded to keep out even Azazel's daughter, never mind a demon as powerful as Abaddon. By the grace of God, Hell's forces have been too focused on other matters to pay any attention to you. But any number of the greater demons could have possessed your wife at any time, and you would not have known until it was too late."

Larry blanched. "I... I thought..."

And suddenly Castiel realized he had stumbled upon a bargaining chip. "Give Henry the coordinates, and I will strengthen the wards on this house as we leave."

That did the trick. Larry was cautious to write the numbers legibly, but he still wrote as quickly as he was able and handed the paper to Henry.

"Thanks, Larry," Henry said with a genuine smile and squeezed his mentor's shoulder. "Let's go, Castiel."

"We should leave through the front door," Castiel replied. "I will strengthen the wards from the outside."

Larry's wife showed them out and watched as Castiel put his hand to the wall and placed better wards around the house. Then she nodded to him and went to report to Larry that he had kept his word.

"Why did you need to do that from out here?" Henry asked.

"I warded the house against angels as well," Castiel explained. "This way, Raphael and his followers won't be able to use Larry's knowledge against us."

"Oh. Uh, here are the coordinates." Henry handed over the paper.

Castiel studied the numbers, nodded, and flew both of them to the outside of the Men of Letters' cache. There Henry drew the warded puzzle box he carried from his pocket, opened it, and used the key it hid to open the door. The interior of the place was dark and bigger than Castiel had expected, but Dean had taught him how to locate and operate a breaker box, so he soon had the lights on.

And Henry, somehow seeing evidence of just how rapidly the place had been vacated to deal with Abaddon, sat down halfway down the stairs and wept.

Castiel was never sure what to do when someone cried. Sam and Dean did it so seldom—indeed, fought _not_ to cry—that they had given Castiel little practical experience in that regard. But he knew Henry needed to give vent to his grief, so he simply hung back and held his peace.

After a few minutes, Henry fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. "Forgive me, Castiel. I know time is short."

"Not that short," Castiel replied gently.

Henry wiped his face, took a deep breath, and looked up from the command center to what lay beyond a large, open doorway. "There. If this place has what we're looking for, it's in there." He jumped up and started down the stairs again.

"Bobby would like this place," Castiel observed as he followed Henry down to the library. "He enjoys reading new books."

Henry chuckled. "Well, these aren't exactly new, though they might be new to him." Then he went over to a wooden box that held a number of small drawers, pulled out one drawer, and began searching through the cards it held.

Castiel waited until Henry gave him instructions on where to find several books that might be helpful. These he retrieved and brought to one of the tables in the center of the room, and between them they searched for some time—he wasn't sure how long, but long enough that Henry had need to eat and sleep. About the time Henry woke, however, Castiel discovered a book that not only held the rituals he needed but also might help him persuade Raphael of his folly. Henry agreed and helped Castiel find the Men of Letters' store of rare ingredients to gather what was needed.

"The one thing we don't seem to have," Henry noted as Castiel packed everything into a small satchel, "is the tears of an angel."

"With good reason. Few angels have felt such emotion... at least since the Crucifixion."

Henry picked up an empty bottle and looked at Castiel apologetically. "I hate to ask..."

Castiel sighed and sat down. "I don't know whether I'll be able to, but I'll try."

With a nod, Henry opened the bottle and came over to stand beside him. "Um... th-think of something sad, I guess."

Castiel closed his eyes and thought—of Dean and his many sorrows, of how many more would burden him if the future Sam had warned him of were not averted; of Sam from that future, so devastated by Dean's death, and how broken Castiel had sensed their relationship had become; of Sam now, suffering daily for the mistakes he'd made; of the mistakes Castiel himself would have made without Sam's warning and the terrible, terrible toll they would have taken on Earth, on Heaven, on Sam, on Dean...

And suddenly Henry was rubbing his back gently. "I'm sorry, Castiel. I'm so sorry."

Only then did Castiel realize that he was sobbing.

As he opened his eyes, Henry pressed a handkerchief into his hand and held up the bottle, now full of clear, slightly glowing liquid. "I got plenty. Thank you. But take all the time you need."

Castiel sniffled and hiccupped—embarrassingly human reactions, or might have been in other company—and tried to regain his composure as he wiped at his face and eyes with the handkerchief.

"What, um... dare I ask?"

Castiel narrowly avoided another hiccup as he drew in a ragged breath and shook his head. "No. It's better you not know."

Henry rubbed his back again. "Okay. Take your time."

It took several more deep, progressively less ragged breaths for Castiel to feel in control of his emotions once again. One last deep breath, and he stood and handed the handkerchief back to Henry. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry to have put you through that."

Castiel smiled a little. "I've given my life for Sam and Dean twice now. To weep for them was no imposition."

Henry opened his mouth, closed it again, ducked his head, and put the vial of tears in the satchel. Then he fastened the satchel, picked up both it and the book, slid the satchel strap over his shoulder, and nodded once. "I'm ready."

Castiel nodded back and flew them back to Lisa's house.


	3. Unchain My Heart

Chapter 3  
>Unchain My Heart<p>

It was mid-morning when Castiel and Henry arrived in Lisa's back yard, and as he had hoped, Lisa spotted them first and alerted Sam and Dean before Henry could knock on the back door. What he did not expect was for the three of them to come outside.

"We've been thinkin', Cas," Dean began. "Since we've got no way of knowing what the link-breaking ritual's gonna do to Sam, we should probably go to Bobby's and do this in the panic room."

Castiel blinked and frowned. "Dean, I can't go into the panic room anymore. I warded it against angels."

"Is that ritual something an angel has to do?"

"No, but—"

"All right, so Henry can do it, and me and Bobby can hold Sam steady or something."

"Besides," Sam added, "if angels can't get into the panic room, either, then we won't have to worry about being interrupted before we can break the link and do the anti-possession ritual."

Henry nodded. "That's a fair point. But speaking of the anti-possession ritual, Dean, what about your son?"

Dean blinked. "Uh, Ben's—"

"On his way home," Lisa interrupted, putting a hand on Dean's arm. "He should be here by the time you guys are finished in Sioux Falls; you can ward him then. Besides, even if Raphael does free Michael by then, Michael won't be willing to possess an eleven-year-old boy, will he?"

Castiel tilted his head, considering the question. "He and Zachariah did not attempt to use Ben to convince Dean to say yes. But that was when Adam was still an option. Still, as Lisa says, Ben is only eleven."

"How old was Claire?" Dean asked.

"Dean..."

"_Guys_," Sam broke in. "The main thing is to get us three adults locked down first. Unless Raphael's already managed to steal the Horsemen's rings, odds are he's not going to find another way into the Cage between now and the time Ben gets home. And if he has, he's probably not going after Ben while Dean and I are still viable targets."

Lisa nodded. "Bobby knows you're coming. I need to wait here for Ben, but I'll see you when you get back."

Dean kissed her goodbye, and Castiel flew the men to Bobby's basement, where Bobby was indeed waiting for them. "Boys," he said with a nod, then looked at Henry. "You must be John's dad."

Henry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Bobby Singer. Good to know you."

As they shook hands, Dean explained, "Bobby's an old friend of the family—kind of an adopted uncle, if you will, though since Dad died, he's..."

"The next best thing," Sam supplied with a small smile.

"Not that you idjits mind me any better'n you did him," Bobby jibed, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true feelings, and the brothers understood and laughed. "You're lookin' good, Sam," he added more seriously.

Sam huffed, and his smile turned wry. "Thanks. Guess we'll see how long that lasts."

"You listen here, boy. You can stay as long as you need. You know that. We'll tend to you, won't we, Cas?"

"We will," Castiel agreed with a smile even as he marveled at just how much more like home this house had come to feel in the last year than Heaven had.

Sam's smile became warm again. "I know. Thanks." Then he took a deep breath, blew it out again, and looked over at the panic room. "Okay. Let's do this."

"This room's built with salt-coated iron," Bobby explained to Henry as the men filed into it. "Got a devil's trap on the floor and one in the ceiling vent. And now that Cas has angel-proofed it, it's about the safest place in the world to do this."

Henry nodded. "So I see." Then he stopped short, seeing that Sam was offering Dean his left wrist to put in the restraints while settling himself on the cot. "Is that really necessary?"

"Better safe than sorry," Sam replied.

"We're talkin' Lucifer here," Dean added. "Not much telling what'll happen."

Henry sighed sadly. "All right. But take your shirt off first, Sam. I'll need to paint a sigil on your chest."

"Boots, too," Bobby recommended.

Sam nodded and quickly stripped off his shirt, boots, and socks before lying down again and letting Bobby and Dean fasten on the restraints while Henry set his burdens on the desk. Castiel closed the door but left the window open so that he could see what was happening. Then Sam called Henry over to him, and Henry sat down on the edge of the cot.

"Look," Sam said, "just so you know, things could get pretty crazy, even by our standards. But no matter what happens, no matter what I say, no matter how I scream, do. Not. Stop."

Henry's face was a picture of misery. "Sam, I don't want to hurt you."

"I know. But we _need_ to do this, not just for me, but to stop Raphael. So I just... wanted to tell you while my mind's clear. Finish it. Whatever happens, happens."

"Even if it kills you?"

"Cas can bring me back. And if he can't... it's been nice knowing you."

"Don't you talk like that," Bobby growled. "You'll live through this."

"Damn straight, and that's an order," Dean agreed in that voice that Castiel always assumed was an echo of his father's.

Sam chuckled. "I just... yeah. Anyway."

Henry heaved a heavy sigh. "All right. I'll try to forget you're my grandson for a while."

"If that'll help, yeah, do that. And Henry? Thank you."

Henry smiled tightly, patted Sam's shoulder, blew out a breath, and stood. "All right. Here goes."

While Henry mixed the necessary ingredients in Bobby's silver bowl and murmured the incantation over them, Bobby moved to sit on Sam's legs, and Dean gently but firmly pinned Sam's arms to the mattress. Then Henry brought the bowl back to the cot and paused briefly to take in the scars and anti-possession tattoo that marked Sam's chest.

"Do it," Dean prompted quietly.

With another sigh, Henry knelt beside the cot and recited the next part of the incantation as he used the paste of ingredients to paint the required sigil on Sam's chest. Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard several times, but there was no other visible reaction until the sigil was complete and Henry moved on to the third part of the incantation, which he had to read from the book. Then the sigil began to sizzle as it glowed with power, and Sam began breathing harder and making pained noises. Dean tightened his grip slightly, giving Sam silent comfort; though Castiel was trapped outside, he sent Sam such strength as he was able to share from a distance. And Henry kept going just as promised, until Sam's back was arching as he screamed. Then Henry faltered to a stop, but Sam's screams didn't quiet.

"FINISH IT!" Dean cried.

Anguished, Henry drew a deep breath and picked up the Latin again. The screams and the tension in the air built until at last Henry read the last word, at which point Sam's hips crashed back down on the cot as his head was rocked forward by a terrible coughing fit.

"Sit 'im up!" Bobby ordered even as Dean and Henry both lunged for the wrist restraints.

"What can I do?" Castiel asked.

Bobby looked out at him. "There's a box of Kleenex on my desk."

Castiel nodded, flew up to get it, and flew back down just as Bobby reached the door. Another deep, hard cough jerked Sam upright to a sitting position, and Dean sat down behind him to brace his back while Henry rubbed his shoulder. Frowning in concern, Castiel opened the panic room door.

Bobby nodded his thanks as he accepted the Kleenex. "Maybe get us a wet rag, too, so we can wash his chest."

"All right. Bathroom or kitchen?"

"Don't matter."

"Kitchen," Castiel decided and flew back upstairs, soaked a rag in cool water from the tap, wrung it out carefully so that it wouldn't drip, and returned to hand the rag to Bobby.

In just that short time, Sam's coughs had begun producing blood. Dean was cursing quietly under his breath and handing Sam fresh tissues as each became saturated. But before Bobby could cross the short space back to the cot, Sam's cough changed slightly. He closed his mouth and held a tissue over it, then coughed again... and something came loose that he caught in his mouth. Cautiously, he lowered his hand and the tissue and opened his mouth to slide out his tongue, on which rested a small glowing ball of energy.

"Henry, bottle that, quickly," Castiel ordered urgently.

Henry jumped up to grab an empty vial from the desk. "What is it?"

"A piece of Lucifer's grace."

Dean swore. "Can you destroy it?" he asked as Henry carefully scooped the grace into the vial.

Castiel shook his head. "No, but we must guard it carefully. Grace isn't sentient or capable of acting on its own, but I have no idea what Raphael might be able to use it for."

Bobby tossed Dean the damp rag and came out to lead Castiel to another part of the basement. "I got a curse box should hold it just fine, if you'll angel-proof it for me."

"Gladly."

Once Bobby selected a small box with the proper dimensions, Castiel quickly warded it. They returned just as Henry was hesitating at the door of the panic room, unsure whether to bring the grace out to them.

"We'd best keep that in there," Bobby told him. "I reckon those wards will help keep it inert, maybe even keep Raphael from knowin' we have it."

Henry nodded. "That's a good idea."

Bobby stepped through the door and held the open box out to Henry, who placed the vial in it. Sure enough, the tainted grace's glow dimmed slightly even before Bobby closed the lid. Then Bobby set the box on the desk and turned back to the cot, where Sam was slumped back against Dean, who was gently washing the sigil off his chest. Sam looked sweaty, pale, and drawn, with dark circles under his half-open, glassy eyes, and his hands were shaking—about like he'd looked in February, in fact, when the demon blood withdrawal had finally run its course after that horrendous run-in with Famine. The pallor of the rest of his skin made the pinkness of the skin under the sigil stand out more than it would have otherwise, but Castiel could tell that it wasn't a serious burn and would heal readily enough even without his aid.

"How are you, Sam?" Henry asked.

Sam smiled weakly. "I've been worse."

"Told you you'd make it," Dean stated.

"Didn't tell me I would. You ordered me to."

"Ah, same difference."

Sam huffed, amused.

But Henry sighed. "I'm sorry. I had no idea it would take such a toll on you."

"Toll? Hell, this was _mild_," Sam replied.

Dean nodded. "Seriously. We're lucky he's just strung out, 'cause the detox ain't pretty."

Henry blinked several times. "Detox? D-detox from what?"

"You probably don't want to know," Bobby said. "Main thing is, it won't happen again."

"Ever," Dean added.

"Never ever ever ever," Sam agreed, sounding a bit... loopy, Castiel thought was the adjective Dean used. "Dude, stop, that tickles."

Dean folded the rag over, draped it over his open palm, and mashed the clean side down on Sam's face. Sam's yelp of protest was muffled, and he pawed ineffectually at Dean's arm as Dean swished the rag around to wash the sweat away—but they were both fighting laughter the whole time.

Bobby snorted. "Idjits," he said fondly.

Henry, though, could manage only a small smile at the brothers' antics. "Maybe you're right, Bobby. If what I just saw was mild, I probably don't want to know what 'not pretty' looks like."

Dean stopped washing Sam's face and hung the rag over the head rail of the cot. "Yeah, well, guess we'd better make triple-sure you don't have to find out."

"Castiel will have to help us there, I'm afraid."

"Okay. You ready for the next part, Sammy?"

"Do I have a choice?" Sam groaned.

"'Fraid not. C'mon, Sasquatch." Dean looped Sam's arm across his shoulders and helped him to his feet, then supported him as they came out of the panic room.

This time, however, Castiel knew what to do for Sam. Once the brothers were out of the panic room, Castiel touched Sam's forehead, healing the residual withdrawal symptoms as well as the burn on his chest.

Sam took a deep breath and straightened as his color returned, taking his weight back from Dean but not moving his arm. Then he smiled. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel smiled back. "You're welcome."

"We'll need cups," Henry said, bringing out the book and satchel. "There's a potion we have to drink, and then there's a sigil Castiel has to place—not unlike the tattoo Sam has, but I think it has to go under the skin."

"What size cups?" Bobby asked. "Shot glass be enough?"

"A single larger cup might work better," Castiel replied. "That way I won't have to mix the potion three separate times."

"How big?"

"A... a mug might work."

"Need any special properties?"

"Not to my knowledge. The material is immaterial." Not until Sam snorted did Castiel realize what he'd just said. "I mean—"

Bobby chuckled. "I read you, Feathers. Be right back." He jogged up the stairs and came back with a mug that had a caricature of a grizzled old cowboy on each side and "The Hurrier I Go, The Behinder I Get" in the center.

"Hey, I remember that mug," said Dean.

"Y'ought to," Bobby replied as he handed it to Castiel. "Brought it to me all the way from Sonora, Texas."

Sam shook his head, smiling, and finally dropped his arm. "Sonora. Man, that was ages ago. Seemed like everyplace we went smelled like goat."

Dean looked at him oddly. "Dude, you were _four_. How do you even remember?"

"Because it was right after Baby Jessica and you kept trying to talk Dad into letting me come to school with you so I wouldn't wander off and fall in a well, and I kept saying..."

"All I really need is a Lassie, Dad," Dean chorused with him, shaking his head with an amused smile.

"Still don't know why you didn't trust our babysitter."

"I trusted the sitter. I didn't trust _you_, Houdini. Remember that time you busted out of the motel room and got, like, five blocks away before Dad finally caught you? I think you were three. You said you were gonna go back to the diner where we'd had lunch 'cause you wanted more cake."

Sam laughed. "Seriously? No, I don't remember that. Did I have any money?"

"Just a fistful of Monopoly money, and I don't even know where you got that. Not like we had board games even when we were both old enough."

Henry looked horrified, but a warning glance from Castiel kept him from commenting where the brothers could hear. Rather, he held his peace as he followed Castiel to Bobby's workbench, but when he handed Castiel the satchel, he glanced back briefly at Sam, who was still laughing, and whispered, "They don't even know, do they?"

"They have more than their share of bad memories," Castiel replied. "Let them keep what happiness they can salvage from those days."

"This was never supposed to happen, Castiel."

"You could not have prevented it, no matter what you did. Too much depended on John and his sons being cut off even from most other hunters. The angels who had been my superiors would not have allowed you to counteract the manipulation, if you had stayed or if you went back now. And even if you lived... Lucifer, if not Michael, would have found some way to use you against your grandsons."

Henry paled. "What do you mean?"

"You're not the eldest son." Castiel was aware that Sam and Dean had stopped bantering and were listening, but there was no reason for them not to hear this part of the conversation.

Henry shook his head. "No. But Eddie never made it back from the war."

"Still, as you are the second son of Michael's vessel, Lucifer could have taken you temporarily. As it was, he had to choose the only surviving son of a line that split from yours even before your ancestors came to this country. But it was hard enough for Sam to resist when Lucifer appeared as a complete stranger. How would he have reacted had Lucifer come in the guise of his own grandfather?"

As Henry ran a shaking hand over his mouth, Sam and Dean walked over to them. "Wait a minute," said Dean. "Cas, you're sayin' Lucifer could still take Henry if Raphael busts Lucifer out?"

"It's possible," Castiel admitted. "The Campbell lineage makes you and Sam the perfect vessels, but as Michael told you, any member of the Winchester bloodline can serve. And Lucifer would not hesitate to coerce Henry's consent if necessary."

Sam swore.

"Okay, we're doin' this _now_," Dean insisted. "And you're startin' with him."

Castiel nearly snapped that he was not at fault for the delay, but he knew that arguing would only make the delay longer. Instead, with a huff of irritation, he turned back to the workbench, opened the book, and began to mix the potion, keeping back enough of each ingredient to be able to repeat the ritual for Ben later. Dean noticed but didn't say anything.

Starting with Henry made sense, however, and not only because of Dean's protectiveness. Henry had read the ritual over Castiel's shoulder back at the library and so knew how much to drink and at what point in the Enochian incantation to drink it. Then he handed the mug to Sam and held still while Castiel placed the sigils _to seal heart and mind_—in other words, one etched into the heart muscle, one into the skull. Henry hissed slightly at each touch of power but didn't otherwise react.

No sooner had Castiel finished the incantation, however, than he began hearing increased chatter among the angels.

"We must hurry," he said, turning to Sam. "Did you—"

"I got it," Sam interrupted with a nod. "Go."

Castiel repeated the ritual for each brother as quickly as he dared, and neither missed a beat in drinking the potion nor reacted to the sigil placement with more than a wince. He sighed in relief when he had finished with Dean. "There. That's—"

"Castiel!" Raphael thundered, appearing at the foot of the stairs with several of his supporters ranged behind him. "What have you done?!"

"You're too late, Raphael," Castiel replied. "These men can't be taken as vessels any longer."

"You lie! Your choir was never taught the means to seal a vessel!"

"No. But the Men of Letters were."

That brought Raphael up short. "What are you talking about?"

"You know." Castiel picked up the book and held it open so that all could see the title page: _De Sanationis, Ad Dionysium Ab Angelu Raphael_. "You yourself dictated this treatise on healing to the man who wrote as Dionysius the Areopagite."

Raphael looked shaken. "No... that book was destroyed..."

"Not every copy. The Men of Letters preserved this one. Little could they have guessed how vital it would be to the Winchester line, which they were sworn in part to protect."

"I was in error then. Humans were never meant to have such knowledge."

Castiel closed the book and advanced toward Raphael. "No, you are in error _now_. When you spoke with Dionysius, you still remembered that Father wants us to serve and protect humans. Or did you only think that with most of the choirs forbidden from taking vessels, it would be impossible for anyone to make use of the most arcane rituals?"

Raphael was torn between shock and rage and paused for a bare moment before turning to his followers. "Seize him and destroy the book!"

But Castiel had held the other angels' attention long enough for Sam and Dean to cover for Henry edging back into the panic room. Raphael's supporters hesitated briefly over the revelation of his past views, and before they could attack, Castiel flew to the panic room door and handed the book through to Henry, then slammed the door shut. Meanwhile, Sam, Dean, and Bobby closed ranks in front of Castiel, shielding him—and giving Castiel cover to leave for a few microseconds to retrieve the angel swords that Dean had kept in the Impala's arsenal.

"It's over, Raphael," Sam snarled.

"And there's not a damn thing you can do about it," Dean added, bringing his hand forward just enough to reveal the sword Castiel had just pressed into it.

"I can smite you where you stand," Raphael growled.

"Yeah, yeah, you can kill us, bring us back with all new bodies, whatever the hell you want. But we are never saying yes again."

"And good luck getting the Cage open," Sam continued, revealing his sword, "or finding someone else to do it for you. Death's just as happy to let Lucifer rot."

"And no one else has the mojo to try, except God, and last I heard, you weren't even sure he was still alive."

The other angels' shock was palpable, but Raphael was too furious to care. "You witless _worm!_" He manifested his own sword... and then suddenly realized that he was alone.

Castiel decided it was time to try diplomacy while Raphael was still off balance. He stepped past Bobby, handing off his sword as he did so, and held out both empty hands in a placating gesture. "Raphael, please. You know this isn't Father's will, only your own. And if you push for open war against those of us who dissent, it won't be only Earth that suffers. The devastation in Heaven will be unspeakable."

Raphael frowned in genuine confusion. "What are you—how do you know?"

"I have seen it."

"And this was our doing, yours and mine?"

"Not ours alone, I believe. There is much I didn't see... but part of the blame lay with Metatron."

Raphael's eyes widened. "Metatron lives?"

"And wishes to usurp Father's throne and cast down all the rest of us."

"Where is he?"

Castiel shook his head. "I'm sorry, brother. I truly don't know. I would tell you if I did."

Raphael nodded slowly. "I... I must think on this." And he left.

"Thought the play was going to be Tinker to Evers to Chance," Henry said as Sam let him out of the panic room.

Castiel frowned, puzzled. "What?"

"Wasn't time," Bobby stated instead of explaining. "'Sides, angels don't play baseball."

Dean snorted.

"So is that it?" Sam asked, coming out of the panic room with his boots and shirt in his left hand. "Are we done?"

Castiel shook his head and went back to the workbench to collect the satchel. "I don't know. He'll have to figure out what to do about Metatron, and he may have lost too much support by now to do anything at all. But he may decide that's of secondary importance to securing a new vessel for Michael. We need to seal Ben right away."

Bobby handed the sword back to Castiel as he came back to the others. "You need that book?"

"No, it should stay here for safekeeping until we can return it to the Men of Letters' library. Do you have a way to make a copy of it while it's in the panic room?"

"I'll figure somethin' out. Probably oughta make backup copies of that whole library when this thing blows over."

Henry nodded. "Yes, I think that's wise. And since I seem to be the only Man of Letters still active, I have no objection to Bobby keeping at least one backup copy for himself."

Bobby smiled. "And me an' you need to have us a long talk."

Henry responded favorably, but Castiel didn't hear what was said because Dean grabbed his elbow and whispered in his ear, "Seriously, Cas—"

"Ben is your son," Castiel whispered back. "Lisa didn't want you to feel obligated to stay."

Dean ran a hand over his mouth and nodded. "Thanks."

Castiel returned the nod just as Bobby said, "You idjits stay out of trouble, y'hear? That means you, too, Cas."

"Oh, now you tell us," Dean teased.

Bobby laughed, and Castiel flew the Winchesters back to Cicero.


	4. I See Fire

Chapter 4  
>I See Fire<p>

As Lisa had expected, Ben was home when Cas and the Winchesters returned. Unfortunately, so were Ben's friend and his mom, both of whom were taken aback by the sudden appearance of four big men in Lisa's kitchen. The fact that Sam was still shirtless and that he, Dean, and Cas still had their swords out only added to the shock factor.

And it didn't help that the first words out of Ben's mouth were, "You went on a hunt _without me?!_"

"No," Dean said at the same time Sam said, "It wasn't like that, Ben."

Ben's disappointment didn't lessen. "You said—"

"We told you the truth," Dean interrupted. "Something came up yesterday. It wasn't a hunt—but it wouldn't have mattered if it were. You're not becoming a hunter, understand me?"

"Dean..."

"You can finish this discussion later," Lisa said firmly. "You guys want to take this out to the garage?"

"We'll need a glass," said Henry.

"Top right cabinet."

As Henry found a tumbler the right size, Ben frowned. "The garage?"

Dean put a hand on Ben's shoulder. "C'mon. I'll make it up to you."

"I don't understand," Ben objected but let Dean steer him to the door to the garage, following the others.

"You wanted to know what we were doing." Dean waited until the door was closed behind him before continuing. "Actually, we need you to do it, too."

Ben looked like he didn't know whether to be scared or intrigued. "What is it?"

"Y'know our anti-possession tattoos?"

Ben nodded. And _our_ had been the right word—Lisa had gotten the tattoo herself just a few days after Dean moved in, but Ben was too young, so Lisa had found a way to make temporary tattoos using the computer and helped Ben reapply the sigil each time one wore off. To date, though, Ben had been more interested in the cool factor than in the protection.

"Well, there are some things it won't keep out," Dean stated. "But Cas just found a ritual that'll protect you from the inside against those things."

"Oh. Cool. Does that mean I won't need the tattoo anymore, though?"

"I don't know how general the protection will be," Cas admitted. "It would be prudent to continue to wear the tattoo."

"Okay. But—what about Mom? Doesn't she need to do it, too?"

Dean was spared from answering right away by the sound of car doors slamming, an engine starting, and tires squealing as Ben's friend's mom peeled out of the driveway.

Sam sighed. "There goes that friendship. We're sorry, Ben."

"Don't be," Ben said with a shrug. "Trevor's moving next month anyway to go live with his grandparents in Oklahoma, so we already kind of said our goodbyes. And I'll still see him at school until then."

Sam huffed and started to put his shirt back on.

But Ben looked back at Dean. "What about Mom?"

Dean shook his head. "Your mom's not in danger."

"Why not? Is it 'cause she's a chick?"

Henry looked mildly shocked.

Dean bent down to look Ben in the eye. "Your mother's not a chick or a girl. She's a woman or a lady. Got that?"

Ben grimaced. "Yes, sir."

"And no, it's not because she's a woman. She's—it's—" Dean swallowed hard and broke eye contact.

"These creatures target specific bloodlines," Henry supplied.

Ben's eyes flew saucer-wide.

Dean moved his hand to Ben's cheek and looked him in the eye again. "You get it now... son?"

Ben swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, sir."

Dean couldn't suppress a flinch at that. He'd never wanted to be enough like Dad to get _that_ reaction from his kids. But there was another way he could be unlike Dad, he realized suddenly. "Oh, and..." He turned Ben around to face Henry. "This is your great-grandfather."

Ben's mouth fell open. "Wha-huh?"

Henry smiled. "I know it's a little hard to believe, Ben, but it's true. Time travel sometimes has unpredictable results. But I'm pleased to meet you."

Automatically, almost robotically, Ben held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, too."

Henry's smile brightened as he shook Ben's hand. "I see your parents are doing a fine job."

Ben blinked. "Uh—"

Dean took a deep breath and stood up straight. "Okay, Cas, you ready with that yet?"

Cas gave him a knowing look, nodded, and handed Dean the potion. "Yes."

"All right, Ben." Dean handed the glass to Ben, drawing his attention away from Henry. "Cas has to recite some stuff. When I do this"—here he pointed to Ben—"drink that as fast as you can."

Ben nodded once. "Got it."

"Then Cas has to put something here and here." Dean pointed to the spots on his own head and chest. "It'll hurt, but just for a second."

Ben swallowed hard and nodded again. "Okay."

"Ready?"

"Ready."

Dean kept his full attention on Ben as Cas began the ritual again. And Ben didn't miss a beat when Dean cued him to drink the potion, barely even made a face at its aftertaste, and only gasped when Cas placed the sigils.

When it was over, Cas took the glass, and Dean rubbed Ben's shoulder. "You okay, son?" Somehow the name didn't trip his tongue this time.

And either Ben didn't mind, or he was too overwhelmed for it to register. He just nodded.

"You did good. Real good."

That got a relieved sigh and a bit of a smile.

"C'mon. Let's go talk to Mom."

Ben nodded and let Dean pull him into a side hug as they went back into the kitchen. Dean tossed his sword and the car keys to Sam, who caught both easily, but didn't even look at Henry. Ben needed him and Lisa both right now—and the three of them needed to get their story straight before Henry provoked any more awkward interruptions.

* * *

><p>Henry waited until the kitchen door was closed to let out a contemptuous snort.<p>

Sam paused in the middle of putting the swords back in the Impala's trunk and frowned. "What?"

Henry turned to look at him. "Did he really think I wouldn't figure out that he and Lisa are living in sin? I suppose I should have expected as much from a _hunter_."

Sam slammed the trunk shut. "And whose fault is _that?_"

That startled Henry. "Sam—"

"No, you listen. Dad raised us as hunters because he didn't know of any other way to avenge Mom. Now, if there's one thing in this world Dean has ever wanted for himself, it's a home with a family. Dad knew that; he wanted Dean to have it, too. But for Dad, killing the demon came first, before us, before anything. That meant we had to live on the run because he thought if we stayed in one place too long, the demon would find us before Dad could find it. So Dean grew up thinking he couldn't have more than a random hookup now and then. He didn't even know about Ben until a couple years ago, and if we hadn't been in the middle of a war, he might have settled down and married Lisa then. He still might make it official, if she wants. But you know what? He's _here_. If we've got Raphael stopped, Dean's going to _stay_ here. He's taking care of his family first, which is a hell of a lot more than Dad could say for you." And Sam picked up his boots and stormed toward the kitchen door.

"Sam, wait—"

Sam didn't wait. He walked inside and slammed the door behind him. Only then did he think to point out that Dad must have come by his hunt-first attitude honestly, but there was no point in going back to add that. Henry was already talking with Cas, although their voices were too quiet for Sam to make out what they were saying.

"What?" Dean asked from the couch.

"Henry," Sam growled, resuming his trek toward the living room. "He figured it out. Said he should have expected as much from a hunter." He rolled his eyes.

Lisa sagged back in the recliner with a sigh. "I'm sorry, guys. I was planning to get Ben up to speed before you got back, but Trevor's mom just would not leave."

Dean shook his head and rubbed Ben's shoulder. "Not your fault, Lis."

Sam dropped his boots beside the couch and sat down on the other side of Ben, rubbing his forehead to try to stave off the headache he felt trying to come on. He really was feeling a lot better after the morning's ordeal, lighter and not nearly as fragile, but he hadn't gotten this mad since... well, since Brady, probably. His brain wasn't used to the stress.

"Sam?" Dean prompted.

Sam shook his head. "I'll be all right."

"_Sam._"

"It's just a headache, Dean. I'm fine."

"When's the last time your headaches were _just_ headaches?"

Sam was about to retort when the pain spiked suddenly and his vision swam. The room spun, darkened—

_They were in some kind of warehouse or packing plant. Abaddon, in the same host but in biker chick clothes, had Sam captive, and his hands were tied. Then Henry and Dean walked in, and it looked like Henry's hands were also tied or cuffed behind his back. Henry and Dean snarked at each other, though Sam couldn't quite hear what they said. Then Dean called out to Abaddon, offering to trade Henry and the box for Sam. Abaddon agreed, and though Dean had to threaten Henry with his gun, Henry started walking. So did Sam._

_ "Henry, I'm sorry," Sam said as they passed each other._

_ "Save it," Henry snapped and kept going._

_ Sam tried to plead with Dean not to go through with the exchange, but Dean just cut his bonds and started to drag him out of the room. But the door suddenly slammed shut._

_ "We had a deal!" Dean cried as they turned back to Abaddon._

_ She smirked. "Surprise. I lied." And she plunged her hand into Henry's abdomen._

"NO!"

Dean shook Sam's shoulders, snapping him back to the present, to reality. "Sammy!"

Sam was breathing hard even as he grounded himself by looking Dean in the eye. "No... no, it's... it's not true, it didn't happen, it _can't_ happen, Abaddon's _dead!_"

Dean's hands tightened on Sam's shoulders. "Abaddon? What about Abaddon?"

"It's not real!"

"Talk to me. What did you see?"

"She killed Henry."

Dean frowned in alarm.

"She'd captured me to force a trade, me for Henry and the key. I tried to tell you not to, but... but it was too late." Sam felt tears running down his cheeks.

"You were actin' like it was a vision."

"It felt like one—but—but Abaddon's _dead_." Sam shook his head in confusion. "I can't hate him that much, can I, to _hallucinate_ something like that? I mean, I was mad, but..."

"That was no hallucination, Sam," Cas said from behind Dean. "I believe it may have happened... just not in this timeline."

Dean turned and frowned up at Cas. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Cas sighed. "There was a future in which the two of you were driven apart, and Dean died. I promised Sam I would ensure it didn't come to pass."

Sam blinked. "So you're saying... I'm seeing things that might have been?"

"I don't know why, but yes, that does appear to be the case."

Sam slumped back against the back of the couch, unsure what to think or feel or anything.

Dean squeezed his shoulders again. "Hey. You said it yourself. It can't happen now."

Sam met his eyes again, needing his big brother's assurance. "But what if—"

"No. No what ifs. We do what we've always done. We make our own destiny. And that includes Henry."

"I don't want him to die."

"Neither do I," Henry said quietly from beside the couch. "But I'd rather die for blood than for anyone else."

Sam looked up at him, sniffled, and held out his hand.

Henry took it. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"Me, too."

Henry squeezed Sam's hand for a moment, then let go as he took a deep breath and turned to Dean. "Look, I've disrupted your family long enough. I've asked Castiel to take me back to Sioux Falls; I'll stay with Bobby for a while, try to get my feet under me, figure out where to go from here."

Dean nodded slowly. "All right. Keep in touch."

"I will." Henry paused. "And Dean... if there's a wedding... I'll come. I-if you'll let me."

Dean glanced at Lisa briefly, then nodded once as he looked at Henry again. "You and Bobby will be the first to know."

Henry smiled. "Thanks."

Then he and Cas were gone, and Dean handed Sam a Kleenex to wipe the tears off his face. Nobody said anything, and probably nobody knew what to say.

Until Ben finally piped up with, "What wedding?"

All the adults laughed, and Dean hugged Ben.

* * *

><p>Sam disappeared into his room after lunch, which Dean assumed meant that he was either taking a nap or giving Dean and Lisa space to have the long talk they needed to have about the future (or both). So they did have that long talk and involved Ben in it, and while they didn't actually reach any conclusions, they did at least clear the air and figure out what they needed to be pondering as a family moving forward. But when Dean realized that it was after 4 and Sam still hadn't come downstairs, he went up to check on Sam—and found him lying awake, staring at the ceiling with tears streaming down his face.<p>

"Hey," Dean said, walking in and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What's with you?"

Sam didn't look at him. "You want me to go, don't you?"

Dean blinked. "What? No. Go where?"

"Away. Move in with Henry or... something."

"Where the hell did this come from?"

Sam's sigh seemed to come from his toes.

"I mean it, Sammy. Where'd you get the idea I want you to leave?"

"You and Lisa are getting married—"

"_Maybe_. Nothing's settled yet."

"—and Ben's your son, and... that's what you've always wanted."

"So?"

"You and Lisa, you have something, you're building something."

"And?"

"And... you don't..."

"Want you? Need you? Like having you around? C'mon, man."

"Dean... you don't need to keep dealing with... whatever this is. I mean, if Cas is right, then maybe I'm not really crazy—"

"We'll see about that. We broke the link, but I'm bettin' Lucifer still did a number on your noggin."

"But Ben's about to start back to school, and... you've got work, and..."

"Hey. Look at me."

Sam finally dragged his eyes over to meet Dean's.

"Last year, when you came back, after Garber. You remember what I told you?"

"We keep each other human," Sam replied so quietly Dean could barely hear him.

Dean nodded. "And what did Cas say happened in that other timeline?"

"We were dri—" Sam's eyes widened, and he sat bolt upright. "That dream. The Mark of Cain. _That really happened._"

Dean frowned. "Do you remember any more of the details?"

Sam shook his head as he looked away, brow furrowed in concentration. "Not much. Something to do with Metatron, somebody called Gadreel, somebody called Kevin, and—" He locked eyes with Dean again. "Abaddon. You thought you needed the Mark to kill Abaddon."

"Okay, well, Abaddon's dead, so..."

"B-but you took it because... because you thought I hated you." Sam started crying again. "I was mad, and I hurt you, and you thought I wouldn't care enough to save your life."

"I must have pretty damn messed up to think that."

Sam's only answer was a sniffle, but he didn't break eye contact.

"But that proves what I said, doesn't it? We keep each other human. If us being apart would end with me turning into a demon..."

"Then if we stay together, you won't?"

Dean nodded. "Makes sense."

"But you've got Lisa."

"Lisa. Isn't. You."

Sam did break eye contact at that and ducked his head.

"Seriously, dude. Did you love me or Dad any less just because you loved Jess?"

"No," Sam admitted in that barely-audible voice.

"So why would I love you any less because I love Lisa and Ben?"

Sam sniffled again.

"C'mere." Dean pulled Sam into a hug and just held him for a moment.

"I don't want to be in the way," Sam whispered. "I don't want to be a third wheel."

"You're not. That's one of the things we talked about, me and Lisa. Stay as long as you want—hell, as long as you need. We still gotta figure out how things have changed after this morning, right, what's been fixed and what hasn't?"

"I'm doing better."

Dean let go. "Like hell you are. And I don't mean the visions. I'm talkin' about the PTSD and the depression and all that, the stuff that's got nothing to do with demon blood and possession."

"Well, it hasn't even been a day—"

"Exactly. It's too soon. Now, if we see the shrink next month and she says you're okay and you still want to move in with Henry, _then_ we can talk. But until then, you're staying, and that's final."

Sam's eyes finally regained a bit of a sparkle. "You gonna give me an ultimatum, _Dad_?"

Dean snorted. "You faceplant off the curb, that's all the ultimatum you're gonna need."

Sam huffed, but he smiled in spite of himself.

"We good?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. We're good."

Dean nodded back. "Okay, c'mon. I think Lisa's fixin' to go get Chinese."

Sam smiled, small but genuine, and followed Dean downstairs.

* * *

><p>The next few months were a time of major adjustment for everyone. Sam's hallucinations all but vanished, though the visions didn't, and the panic attacks only diminished. So it was October before the psychiatrist declared that Sam was fine to come in every other month instead of once a month. He wasn't clear to drive yet, and might not ever be if the visions kept coming, but he was <em>dying<em> to get out of the house and out of Dean and Lisa's hair, even though they told him time and again that his presence really wasn't an imposition. So Dean armed him with a new cell phone and called Cas to take him to Bobby's. Sam called faithfully every night to check in, and after a week in Sioux Falls, he reported that he and Henry were going to the Men of Letters' bunker to look up some stuff for Cas and start digitizing the library.

But somehow Dean wasn't surprised when the knock at the door late on November 1 turned out to be a shame-faced Sam with his duffle over his shoulder.

"'M sorry, Dean," Sam said quietly. "I... I couldn't."

"Do I look mad?" Dean replied and ushered Sam into the house.

"I just... Mom and Jess..."

"Dude, you do _not_ need to explain. I already took tomorrow and Wednesday off." Dean closed the door and locked it.

Sam blinked at him. "You did?"

Dean nodded. "Just... have a feelin' it's gonna be bad this year. 'Specially since... Carthage."

Sam's breath hitched. "I forgot that was coming up, too. Damn."

Lisa cleared her throat. "I hate to have to point this out, but tomorrow night is a school night. So if you guys are planning on drinking..."

"We'll stay out of your hair," Dean promised and kissed her. "You and Ben probably won't even know we're here. We can hole up in Sam's room."

Sam's breath hitched again. "It's—still my room?"

"Well, hell, you still need a place to stay when you go see the shrink, don't you?"

Sam's eyes were suspiciously bright as he sniffled and tried to laugh. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Dean tried to smile, but instead he found himself sighing as he put a hand on Sam's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I'm glad you're here."

Sam's smile dimmed under the weight of everything Dean wasn't saying but was no less genuine for its sadness. "Me, too."

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, turned back to Lisa, and asked, "You mind if—" at the same time she began, "You wanna—" That touched off a round of half-hearted chuckles from all three of them.

"I can check the wards," she said then. "You guys go on up. I'll be right there."

Dean nodded and patted Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, Sammy."

Sam bumped shoulders with Dean on their way up the stairs. Dean bumped back and thought his heart might burst for gratitude that of all the things he'd lost, all the people he'd lost, at least Sam had come back to him.

Despite his foreboding, however, the brothers held it together fairly well for most of the day on the 2nd. That was probably due mainly to Dean insisting that Sam tell him all about the bunker, describe it in detail, talk him through the books they'd scanned so far and how much else they had to go through. Sam even volunteered the information that one of the books had held a teleportation spell, something that sounded kind of like a portkey (though Sam used the term first, so Dean got to harass him about it). It wasn't something Sam could use on a daily basis, but once or twice a month would evidently be okay. That was a relief to both of them; it meant Sam wouldn't have to be housebound indefinitely, even if he never drove again.

No, the heaviness of the day didn't really descend until after Lisa put Ben to bed and said she'd be going on to bed herself.

Dean shook his head. "Lis, you don't—"

She held up a hand. "I won't intrude on your grief. Maybe next year we'll be in a place where I can share it, but right now... I think you need Sam more than you need me."

He hugged her and rubbed her back. "Make it up to you tomorrow?"

"You don't have to," she whispered and kissed him. "But we can see."

He kissed her back and watched with a sigh as she went upstairs. Then after a moment of staring at nothing, he went to the pantry and got out the Jack. Sam got glasses, and Dean poured before they sat down at the table. Technically, Sam wasn't supposed to drink with the medications he was on, but they both knew the meds weren't going to help with this, and Sam had skipped taking them for the day just to be safe(r).

Dean was still staring at the glass of whiskey in his hand, hadn't even taken a drink yet, when he realized he and Sam weren't alone.

"Room for one more?" Henry asked quietly.

Dean drew a deep breath as he looked up at his grandfather. "Hey. Sure. Sit down. You want..." He gestured with the glass in his hand.

Henry hesitated briefly before nodding. "For this, it might help."

Sam jumped up and brought over another glass, and Dean poured.

Henry looked at the whiskey for a moment, much as Dean had done, before raising his glass and looking Dean in the eye. "To family."

"To family," the brothers echoed, clinked glasses, and drank.

Henry only sipped at his drink, but he waited until Sam and Dean had a couple more rounds under their belts before breaking the silence again. "I understand this is... the night it happened."

Dean just nodded.

"Tell me everything."

Dean sighed. "You don't want to know."

"No. But I need to, Dean. I need to know what happened to my son, what made him the man he was. Please."

Maybe it was the booze; maybe it was the retirement; maybe it was the fact that Henry said please. Dean wasn't sure. Something just gave after his next drink, like a dam breaking, and he started talking. So did Sam. They spilled everything—the fire, the hunts, Dad, Jess, Cold Oak, Dean's deal, Ilchester, Carthage, Detroit, Stull. Henry took charge of the bottle at some point, but Dean stopped paying attention to how much he was drinking. Maybe he cried, though he didn't want to. He just knew a whole lot of hurt came rolling out of his mouth and Sam's... but he wasn't mad. He wasn't anything but tired and sad.

Somehow he and Sammy made it up the stairs together and crashed in Sam's bed. He thought he mumbled something like "Love you, Sasquatch" into Sam's ear before he finally conked out. And somehow it didn't surprise him to wake up and find Sam cuddling him for dear life.

He was surprised that he still felt kind of buzzed when he finally got up. He was doubly surprised to find Henry still asleep on the couch. And he was shocked that the bottle of Jack was still nearly half full. Apparently the tolerance he'd built up over the course of the Apocalypse hadn't lasted.

When he said so, though, Sam shook his head. "I dunno, man. I think you drank a lot more than we did. Memory's kinda hazy, though."

Dean sighed and headed into the kitchen. "Guess it doesn't matter. Too much is too much. I can't keep doin' this. I don't even need a lecture from Lisa to know that. Ben deserves better. Lisa deserves better. And hell, gettin' wasted got us both killed back in March."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you say that," Henry groaned and sat up.

Sam snorted. "You're not a hunter until you've died at least once. Hell, you're not a Winchester until you've died twice."

Henry groaned again and staggered over to the table. "Does 'missing, presumed dead' for fifty-two years count?"

"Probably."

"Nobody else is dyin' without permission from Cas," Dean declared and thunked the skillet down on the stove. "Want eggs and bacon, Henry?"

Henry looked a little green and shook his head. "Just tea, I think."

"I'll get the tea," Sam offered and started to do so. "What kind of permission?"

"The kind that involves cutting down the mightiest tree in the forest with a herring," Dean answered.

"Ni."

"You want some, Sammy?"

"Just eggs, thanks. And go easy on the salt."

Dean stuck out his tongue and got the eggs out of the fridge.

Henry squinted at them. "Was I supposed to understand that?"

"No," the brothers chorused, but Sam added, "We can watch that movie this afternoon."

"Oh. Okay. Sure."

They didn't talk much after that, aside from really small talk, until Dean was halfway through his plate of eggs and bacon and Henry was on his second cup of tea.

"I've been thinking," Henry said then abruptly. "And—I was thinking about this during the day yesterday, so it's not... solely to do with anything that was said last night."

Dean frowned. "What?"

Henry took a deep breath. "That bunker really isn't intended as a home, long-term. It isn't so bad having someone else with me, but I can't expect Sam to stay there just for my sake. After all, his doctors are here, and there aren't any in Lebanon to speak of. We can't really impose on Bobby any longer, either, and... the only other family I have is here."

"What's your point?"

"There's a house for sale down the street. It's easy walking distance, not many streets to cross. If it's in good shape, I thought I'd buy it, let that be my main residence when I'm not at the bunker. And of course, Sam's welcome to stay there if he wants."

Dean blinked. "You've got that kind of dough? Woulda thought bein' legally dead would be kind of a problem."

"Well, if I do this, Bobby's offered to set me up with enough of a paper trail to pass the credit checks and so on. As for the money... it seems the Men of Letters had set aside a great deal of hard assets."

"Gold," Sam explained, "and lots of it. Not, like, Fort Knox or anything, but enough to set _Ben's_ grandkids up for life."

Henry chuckled. "Obviously, it wouldn't be wise for me to cash in the whole amount, but we can certainly cover down payments on a house and a used car and set up some kind of annuity until I can find a civilian job."

Dean shrugged. "Hell, I got you covered there. Sid's lookin' for an office manager."

Henry's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, I could do that. I'd need some tutorials to get me up to speed with the equipment; Sam and Bobby have been teaching me how to use these new computers, but I'm sure there are other things I need to learn."

"Even on the computer, there are things we haven't gotten to yet," Sam noted. "Email, spreadsheets, that kind of thing."

"Ever used a copy machine?" Dean asked.

Henry frowned a little. "You mean a mimeograph?"

"No, like Xerox."

Henry shook his head. "Xerography's still in its infancy—or was."

"It's not too different from those scanners you've been using at the bunker. Kind of a cross between that and a mimeograph. We can show you at the library or something; there's one for public use there, costs, like, five cents a page."

"All right. I'm sure there will be things I'll need to make copies of even before I apply for the job. As for Sam..."

"Hell, that's up to Sam. Whaddaya say, Sasquatch?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a grunt of pain as he slumped forward, head in hands and elbows on table.

"Sammy?"

It was a long, tense moment before the vision released Sam; then he visibly relaxed and leaned back in his chair, and his breath started coming in loud, harsh pants.

"What is it?" Henry asked, rubbing Sam's shoulder. "What did you see?"

Sam needed another couple of pants before he could manage, "Ca-... Ca-... Campbells... have a library... me an' Dean... an' Bobby, we were... lookin' for some... 'way to put a run in... Octomom's stockings,' whatever the... hell that means. That's what... Bobby said. An' then... Dean, you found... Samuel Colt's... Colt's journal in there."

Dean blinked several times. "Okay. That... doesn't make any sense."

Sam looked him in the eye and tried to laugh, but his eyes were clear despite their tiredness. "Tha-... that's the first one... nobody's died in. Maybe we've... changed enough."

At a loss, Dean just smiled and rubbed Sam's back for a moment.

And then suddenly Cas was sitting down beside Henry—well, it was more of a weary plop than a graceful sitting down. "It's over," he announced.

"What is?" all three Winchesters chorused.

"We found Metatron. Raphael took him for interrogation and confirmed what I had seen of his deeds in the other timeline... and more."

"And?" Dean prompted when it seemed like Cas wasn't going to continue.

Cas sighed heavily. "Metatron is dead. And Raphael has given up the attempt to resume the Apocalypse, at least for now. Especially with all living members of the Winchester line sealed against possession, the attempt would be fruitless. And I believe the information he learned from Metatron has given him much to think on." He shook his head. "I can't help feeling like I betrayed Metatron, even though I know he was planning to betray us all. His death and Raphael's change of heart will save countless lives, human and angel. I just... wish there had been another way."

Sam had caught his breath enough to speak normally as he leaned forward. "Cas, you did what you had to. And you kept your promise to... that other me. Those things I've been seeing can't happen now. You fixed it."

Cas looked at him. "Have I truly fixed everything?"

Forehead creasing in worry, Sam looked down at his empty plate and then at Dean.

"You make your own choice," Dean said. "But I'm not mad at you. About anything."

Sam took a deep breath and fiddled with his fork for a moment. "I think I'll still want to travel some. Spend a few weeks with Bobby, a few at the bunker, maybe. And... as long as it's okay with you... I think I will move in with Henry, if he gets that house, just... to give you and Lisa some space."

Dean nodded slowly. "All right. That's fine with me. Just as long as you're takin' care of yourself."

As Sam smiled with a huff of relief, something... clicked somehow, like that other timeline was finally locked away for good.

Henry smiled, too. "Well, then, I think this calls for some celebration!"

"I'm all for that," Dean replied. "Although as weird as it sounds to say this, I'm thinkin' no booze."

"Pie?" Cas suggested.

And that's why Lisa came home two hours later to find three Winchesters sound asleep on the couch, with the end of _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ on the TV and the remains of apple pie and coffee in front of them on the coffee table, while Cas stared at the TV with his head tilted trying to figure out the humor.

"Cas?" she asked quietly, hesitating near Dean's end of the couch. "Is everything okay?"

Cas looked at her, at Sam, at Henry, at Dean, and smiled. "It is now."

She smiled back and bent to give Dean a gentle kiss on the cheek, and even in his sleep, Dean glowed with contentment.


End file.
